


(you're the only one who knows) you slow it down.

by redhoods



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, and then suddenly feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles comes back, he has what looks like a first aid kit in his hands which he sits on the desk before gesturing at Isaac, “Come here,” he states and Isaac finds himself obeying automatically, making a surprised sound when Stiles starts pulling at his shirt, pushing Stiles’s hands away so he can get it off himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you're the only one who knows) you slow it down.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treesfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesfall/gifts).



> this is for amanda who got it in my head that stiles and isaac hurt and making out would be really hot and feels got involved and yeah, sorry not sorry.
> 
> unbeta'd.

It’s after the fight with the alpha pack and Isaac finds himself sitting in Stiles’s desk chair, waiting for him to regain consciousness while taking account of all his own injuries. Which, Isaac thought he was done getting beat up, but apparently even the healing factor comes with strings attached, but he looks at Stiles and feels guilty for it.

Stiles, who showed up to the fight, humanness and all, knowing that there was every possibility that he could get hurt, could get killed. Of course, he hadn’t come alone, Chris Argent in tow with several rounds of wolfsbane bullets to pump the alpha pack full of it, but still Isaac feels like shaking Stiles, yelling at him, trying to get it through his skull that he’s not going to heal if someone swipes claws at him or a stray bullet catches him.

He hasn’t had any regard for his own safety since he went missing after the championship game.

There’s shuffling on the bed and Isaac looks up from the gash on his side that he was uselessly poking at, watching Stiles slowly come to with an almost pitiful groan. He moves slowly, like approaching a skittish animal, “Stilinski?”

“Mm, Isaac?” Stiles blinks a few times, the haze fading from his eyes as he sits up, crashing back almost immediately with a soft whine, “Wha’happened?”

Isaac’s eyebrows furrow as settles on the edge of the bed, hand reaching out for Stiles in an aborted move before it drops back down to the bed spread, “One of the alphas hit you, knocked you out via a tree,” he explains lightly, “Anywhere beside your head hurt?”

A look of concentration comes across Stiles’s face and he shakes his head slowly, “You’re hurt though,” he states, voice soft and considering, gesturing vaguely towards the bloody scratches on Isaac’s side.

“I’ll be okay,” he replies softly, curling a hand around Stiles’s bicep finally and helping him into a sitting position, “You shouldn’t go back to sleep, though, you probably have a concussion.”

Stiles nods at him before pushing himself off the bed and Isaac resists the urge to hover, watching how he sways a little before seeming to get his grounds. He doesn’t know why this is knocking him so off balance, seeing Stiles like this, but he remembers Stiles’s face when he had shown up at the clearing to find that Scott wasn’t there but Jackson was, which the thought sends a pang of something like betrayal through him. He pushes it away though, instead focusing on the sounds of Stiles rummaging through a cabinet or something, the beat of his heart not quite steady, but still strong.

When Stiles comes back, he has what looks like a first aid kit in his hands which he sits on the desk before gesturing at Isaac, “Come here,” he states and Isaac finds himself obeying automatically, making a surprised sound when Stiles starts pulling at his shirt, pushing Stiles’s hands away so he can get it off himself.

“I’ll heal, you know? Just a little slower,” he states softly before sits on the desk when Stiles pushes at his chest, lifting his arm up to let Stiles inspect his wound. It’s not too bad, Derek and Peter had kept him back from the brunt of the fight, but it still twinges when he pulls too hard or too fast.

Stiles hums like he’s not even listening, pushing through the disorganization that is the first aid kit until he pulls out what looks like alcohol wipes, “You don’t need an infection to fight on top of an alpha scratch though,” he replies finally, ripping into the small packet like it did something to offend him. His touch in gentle though when he braces one hand above the scratch and starts wiping at the wound with gentle but sure strokes.

Feeling keyed up by the time Stiles finishes, Isaac starts to slide off the desk, nearly jumping in surprise when Stiles suddenly pushes him back with surprising strength, “Stiles,” he tries softly, almost pleading, but resigns himself to Stiles’s mercy with the glare he gets.

It takes him a few minutes, but Stiles apparently finds a piece of gauze to his likings, freeing it from the first aid kit with a triumphant sound along with medical tape. Isaac suddenly finds himself struck by memories of fixing himself up and he thought this would be over when he took the bite and apparently he loses himself in his thoughts because when he blinks, Stiles is watching him with concern and the gauze is in place, taped with hospital like precision.

“Lost you there for a bit,” Stiles mumbles, voice soft and a little unsure, something in his gaze that Isaac can’t place but he knows he doesn’t like it.

He nods after staring for a few seconds, “Just got lost in my memories for a minute,” he replies, voice just as soft, reaching out to lightly ghost his fingers along the bruise that’s steadily blossoming across Stiles’s cheek, flashing back to the night with Gerard and the last time they had had to deal with the kanima.

Stiles sways a little bit before his cheek actually presses into Isaac’s hand and he looks lost, unsure, and Isaac wants to chase it from his eyes, the insecurity and the hauntedness that’s been rapidly growing in them. He rubs his them across the top of Stiles’s cheek bone, along the side of his nose, over his lips.

Isaac leans in before he realizes it, pressing his lips lightly to Stiles’s, just a feather light touch, before he’s pulling back to see the reaction and he isn’t sure what he sees but he’s leaning back in once more and pressing his lips to Stiles’s once more in a dry kiss.

The reaction isn’t quite instantaneous but Stiles makes a sound, surprised or wounded or pleased or Isaac isn’t sure, but he’s pressing back into the kiss, despite the awkward angle, and Isaac finds himself sliding off the desk and turning them, hefting Stiles up onto it without a second thought. It doesn’t seem to phase Stiles and if it does, he just rolls with it, his heels hooking around the back of Isaac’s thighs, one hand spread out over Isaac’s uninjured side, the other arm curling around his neck.

It isn’t a great kiss, until it is, with Stiles licking into his mouth and Isaac wants this, just this, for the rest of his life. It’s not like Stiles is a great kisser, not that Isaac thinks he is either, but it’s the passion that he puts into it, the enthusiasm like he’s enjoying it just as much as Isaac is. And, maybe he does or maybe he’s just looking to chase the pain away for a while, but Isaac’ll take it either way.

This kiss breaks with each of them taking in gulps of air, breaths mingling with their proximity, noses bumping as Isaac presses in to press his lips to Stiles’s cheek, his jaw, just behind his ear, his jumping pulse point, before finding his lips again when Stiles’s fingers tangle in his hair and tugs.

They trade slow kisses, almost like they’re too lazy to initiate a real kiss, just quick presses of lips with longer kisses in between. Isaac feels calm and settled like he hasn’t since they realized there was an alpha pack, rubbing his hands along Stiles’s side, rucking up his shirt as he does so.

A car door slams outside, signaling the Sheriff’s return and Isaac wants to pull back, but Stiles clings to him, ankles locking around Isaac’s thighs and arm tight around his neck, so he stays put, pressing his face into Stiles’s neck and just breathing him in, listening to the Sheriff move about downstairs, “My dad knows,” Stiles mumbles softly, “I couldn’t keep lying,” he adds and Isaac nods slowly, not removing himself from where he’s pressed into Stiles’s neck.

“He doesn’t like the idea of me running around with a bunch of werewolves but I think he’s resigned himself to the fact that I’m not going to even attempt to stay away,” Stiles continues and he’s actually petting Isaac’s curls in a way that has his wolf practically purring with contentment. “You guys are important to me,” he whispers then, like he’s sharing a big secret and Isaac presses his lips to Stiles’s skin in response.

Stiles huffs, a soft almost laugh, “Besides who else would save all your incompetent werewolf asses?”

Isaac nips at his skin in teasing retaliation before licking at the area, somewhat smug when Stiles practically melts against him with a sound like a whimper, “We’d all be dead if it weren’t for you,” he says honestly in response once he feels satisfied with the small red mark he’s left.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t hear the approach, but the Sheriff is suddenly in the doorway, clearing his throat and Isaac goes to pull away, but Stiles still doesn’t let up on his grip so Isaac ends up twisted awkwardly to face the Sheriff with a meek, “Hi.”

Stiles seems to be smothering laughter and some of it bubbles up when he finally manages a, “Hi, Dad!”

The pinch between the Sheriff’s eyes seems to ease up when Stiles laughs, “Hi boys, everything okay?” He asks finally, after seeming to just be attempting to take in the scene in front of him.

Biting down on his lip, unsure, Isaac nods, glancing over at Stiles.

“Yeah, I was just patching up Isaac’s side...well, no, I was kissing him senseless,” Isaac groans at that, burying his face in Stiles’s neck when he feels the flush creeping up his neck and onto his face, but he’s pretty certain he hears the Sheriff do the same so he feels a little bit better about it.

“Okay,” the Sheriff says slowly, like this is new territory for him as well and Isaac is almost one hundred percent certain it is, “I’m going to make dinner, you both hungry?”

Stiles seems to perk up even more than that, chirping out a, “Yes,” and they both listen to the Sheriff’s footsteps fade as he goes down the stairs. He laughs then, wild and carefree, and Isaac finds himself pulling back to stare, a surprised sound escaping him when Stiles draws him in to attempt to smother him with kisses or something, moving too quick for Isaac to actually be able to return any of the kisses, before Stiles’s presses his face into Isaac’s chest with a muffled, “Thank you.”

Isaac is left feeling proud of himself for chasing away the pain, the sadness, if only for the time being, and also confused as to what else it is that he’s feeling exactly, though a smile pulls at his lips. If he thinks about it really, it leaves him feeling like he had at the vet’s, happy to take the dog’s pain away and unsure if he should actually feel happy considering the dog was still dying either way.

It’s a somewhat morbid thought, to compare Stiles to a dying dog, so he pushes it away, instead focusing on Stiles’s cheek pressed to his bare chest and the fingers still absently running through his hair.

They pull apart when the Sheriff calls up about dinner and Stiles rambles about how his dad better have made something healthy, almost on autopilot as he pulls a shirt from his dresser and presses it into Isaac’s hand with a smile and another quick kiss.

When he pulls the shirt on, Isaac almost expects Stiles to go ahead of him, leaving him to make the awkward entrance alone but Stiles is still there when he manages to get the shirt on. It’s a little small, not quite long enough and not quite wide enough in the shoulders, but he’s not in danger of busting the seams or anything and he’s also wrapped up in Stiles’s scent, so he figures he’s okay, especially when Stiles’s fingers tangle in his and he’s tugged out the door.

Whatever this is between them could be nothing, could be something, could just be temporary and fleeting, a way to keep each other’s pain at bay, if only for a short while, but either way Isaac is content to hang onto it while it’s there and hope that maybe it’ll become something more than that. He knows there’s a lot to work through for both of them before they can really get into something that’s healthy and good and right, but it strikes him that he’s willing to wait for it, to wait for Stiles.

It really strikes him when he finds himself sitting with Stiles and the Sheriff at dinner, fielding questions about himself and werewolves, and feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time. He’s at the sink with Stiles, rinsing and drying off dishes as Stiles washes him when the Sheriff surprises them both again, looking completely unapologetic about it. “I’m not presuming anything, not trying to make any assumptions, but the couch in the living room opens into a bed and there’s extra blankets and pillows in the hall closet.”

Stiles makes a sound next to him before he’s suddenly throwing himself at his dad, soap bubbles and all. Isaac drops his gaze, feeling like he’s intruding, but when Stiles returns to the sink he glances up with a little smile and a soft, “Thank you,” to the Sheriff who nods and disappears, his steps heavy on the stairs.

And if the Sheriff is at all upset when he comes downstairs to find them both asleep on the bed in the living room in their t-shirts and boxers, well, he doesn’t comment, just leaves them a plate of pancakes in the microwave with a note about getting called in but that they should expect him back around lunch time to talk some more.

They end up on the bed once more eating their pancakes and then moving the plates to the floor so they can trade lazy kisses without worry of an elbow ending up in a plate of syrup.

They’re laying on their sides, facing each other, and Stiles fingers are tracing over his cheeks, eyes narrowed in focus as he thinks before he finally blurts out, “I really like you,” and Isaac has to fight everything in him not to snort, because he thought that was implied with all the kissing, but Stiles trudges on unaware, “I mean, yeah, I still...” he trails off, like he’s picking his words, “I have other things to get over and I don’t want to seem like I’m leading you on but I really...”

He cuts Stiles off with a soft kiss and an equal soft, “Me too, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> i really dislike this ending, but i couldn't figure out how else to end it so.


End file.
